


With You

by Crunchysunrises



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22609948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crunchysunrises/pseuds/Crunchysunrises
Summary: Anakin feels it when she dies.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker/Buffy Summers
Comments: 32
Kudos: 262
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	With You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/gifts).



He felt it when she died.

A single voice – _her_ voice – screamed out in fear and rage and denial. His skull was still reverberating with her pain, when her voice cut off, as if with a knife. And then, she was just _gone._

Screaming, he reached for her, but there was nothing to grab, nothing with which to pull himself out of her loss. Where she had been – a bright, constant flicker at the edge of his mind – there was now only a sucking void.

Anakin fell into it head first.

He screamed and lashed out, pain blooming bright at the back of his skull.

It was almost a relief to sink into unconsciousness; almost, because he didn’t find her anywhere along the way.

She was _gone._

.

.

.

Obi-Wan came to visit him where they were holding him in the cells beneath the main temple.

Apparently, he had obliterated the reflection garden, injured two full Jedi, and terrified the creche. Anakin, empty and hurt and achingly alone, found that he didn’t much care. Buffy would have hated it, anyway.

Buffy.

He had always dreamed of her. Even after he had joined the Jedi Order – after he had learned to embrace, control, use his connection to the Force – Anakin had dreamed of her; a pretty girl, laughing and bright. As he had grown, she had too; fiercer and prettier and shining brighter with every passing year. And the brighter she shone, the deeper the shadows that wreathed her came to be.

When they were children, it had been her that had described trees and flowers, sparkling pools of water, and snow to him. She had told him about school and angels and all her friends. She had told him about her cousin Cecelia. To an enslaved boy on a desert planet, they had been wonderous tales all.

Shyly at first, and then with more confidence, he had exchanged confidences with her. Anakin had told her about himself and Tatooine and the droids. Later, he had told her about pod racing and Jedi, Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

She was free, she’d always been free – a slave always knew – but she hadn’t treated him like a slave. She’d even claimed him as her _friend,_ his first and only.

He’d never made any other ones, not even in the Order. He was too old, too strange, too ignorant, too strong, too emotional, too _much._ But he’d had her; he’d always had her, and he’d loved her, his first and only friend.

Once, when he’d been much younger, Anakin had tried to tell Obi-Wan about Buffy, but his master hadn’t understood.

“If you’re really that lonely,” Obi-Wan had said, “perhaps bother to learn your year-mates’ names rather than inventing imagining friends for yourself.”

“Why?” Anakin had demanded. “They haven’t bothered to know mine.”

They had called him everything _but_ his name.

The last time that they had spoken, he had tried to explain the Jedi Order to Buffy, to explain what it meant to him, to the entire galaxy, but Buffy hadn’t understood. She’d wrinkled her nose at him.

“They sound… _tweedy,”_ she’d said, while twirling a small and pointed stick between her fingers. “You can’t trust the tweed, Anakin. It’s never as nice as it seems.”

“We’re the _Knights of the Republic!_ The Jedi are loyal to the republic and good and – and above all, a Jedi must be above reproach.”

“Anyone who says they’re above reproach is lying,” had said Buffy. She’d spun her chunk of wood – she’d called it a stake – through her nimble fingers again, faster this time. “What happens to people who try to leave your Jedi Order? Or who don’t want to join it in the first place? Because on my world –”

“I don’t care how it is there!” he’d shouted. “It doesn’t matter to me! None of this matters! You’re only saying it because you’re ugly and _dark_ now!”

“Ugly?” snapped Buffy, her anger finally rising to meet his. She caught her stake with a snap of her wrist. “Who are you calling _ugly?”_

“You shine like the sun, but the shadows around you are just as dark,” had sneered Anakin. “Sometimes, I can’t tell which one is really yours. It’s like they’re all coming from you, and it’s ugly, Buffy.”

“Maybe for a Jedi,” Buffy had sneered back. “The rest of us know that the right hand of darkness is the left hand of light.”

A heresy.

What she’d said was an utter and complete abomination, and Anakin had let her know it too and in so many words. He’d told her that it was wrong to equate Jedi to the Sith, to imply that there might be a connection between them – not that she’d cared.

He’d woken from that dream utterly furious, too angry with Buffy to remain asleep any longer. Getting up, Anakin had started his day early and with a vigorous battle against a pair of training droids.

The last things that he’d ever said to her were that she was ugly and wrong and stupid. She’d died thinking that he didn’t lo – didn’t _care_ about her, at all.

Grief ravaged him, making it impossible to eat, to sleep, to control his draw on the Force… and to leave the cells beneath the temple, it turned out.

Eventually, Anakin fell into an exhausted sleep.

And she was _there_.

Her darkness was darker than ever, anger and hurt roiling in it, making it seethe like a living sea, but she shone brighter too. And, most importantly, she was _alive._

A lurch and Buffy was farther away – no, he was. He was waking up, excitement searing through his veins, jolting him closer to a waking world – a world in which she was not; a world in which she was _dead._

_She can’t go,_ thought Anakin, desperate, as he reached for Buffy, grabbed at her. He held her tight against him, inadvertently lifting her off of her feet. Around them, the dream frayed.

The small woman pressed against his chest began to fade, her weight and warmth less with every passing moment. Arms around her, chest to chest, and still not close enough to anchor her to him, to keep her living in his world. Around him, the grey of his cell asserted itself, stone pressing cold and unyielding against his back. It pulled him ever further from his dreams, from her.

Stubborn, Anakin held on tighter, terrified that if he let go of Buffy, she would disappear, absorbed into the Force as all lost souls eventually were. She would be gone – well and truly _gone_ – and he would be all alone in the universe. Buffy would never know that he –

Anakin pressed his mouth to hers, as he had seen others do. A kiss meant love, and he _loved_ her. He’d always loved her, and she should know –

For a moment, Buffy stood stiff and still against him. Then, she kissed him back, her mouth twisting against his. She swept her tongue into Anakin’s mouth, her fingertips digging into the muscles of his shoulders, and Anakin gasped at the intimate invasion, melted before it.

The dream was still fading – he was waking up – and there was an ugly, straining feeling in the Force, as if the point of a dull knife was being thrust against the fabric of existence. Somewhere in the distance, someone was shouting – no, _a lot_ of people were shouting – but in his cell, Buffy was warm and soft and wonderfully, heart-wrenchingly _alive,_ even though she shouldn’t be.

A last waver, a last wrench – him on her, and her pulling herself up against him, this time – and somewhere at the back of Anakin’s head he heard – he _felt_ – the Force rip wide open. And through the obscene gape between the fluttering edges of existence fell Buffy.

She tumbled against him with a yelp, one that Anakin echoed when Buffy’s knee slammed into a very _sensitive_ location on his person, one previously untouched by another person.

_One that might never be the same,_ thought Anakin, through the throbbing agony, as he curled up against her. It was as close as he could manage to curling around himself.

“Sorry, sorry!” cried Buffy, as she tried to scramble off of him, kneeing Anakin roughly four more times in the process. Anakin, who had managed to grab her again, endured. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, let Buffy go – she had already died on him once before, after all. Luckily, none of her subsequent knees were as well aimed as that first one had been.

Between the thud of Buffy’s pulse against his fingertips and the throb of his pain against his temples, Anakin barely felt it when the Force knit back together, the edges of existence smoothing themselves back together as if the rip had never been.

And yet, he still had Buffy, breathing and alive and looking up at him with wide eyes.

“So, I think it’s safe to say that I’m not in Kansas any – hey, are we in _jail?”_ demanded Buffy, her voice rising with her growing outrage.

“Not – not exactly.” Then, guiltily, “I felt it when you died. I took it… badly.”

For a Jedi, there was only one possible response to such an admission, and Anakin flinched, defensiveness and anger already beginning to bubble through him.

_It’s not my fault,_ he thought, not for the first time since he had awoken to find himself confined. **_You_** _were the one who died. **You** were the one who left me alone! **You** –_

There, Anakin cut himself off with a half-strangled gasp, because Buffy had flung herself at him. She wrapped her arms around him, her grip tight enough around him to drive the breath from his lungs. Or maybe that was the ferocity of her kiss? Either way, at the sound he made, Buffy’s lips turned up against his; a smile.

Anakin kissed her back as best he could, his head spinning and liquid fire pouring through his veins. He was beginning to feel marginally more human – achingly so – when the cell’s door crashed open.

And in a blur of motion, Buffy was gone, leaving Anakin grasping futilely at thin air.

Anakin just caught a glimpse of Master Windu’s snapping eyes and the sweep of his lightsaber before Buffy was – well, not there, but somehow past Master Windu. The thud of flesh against flesh was still ringing in Anakin’s ears, when the master slumped to the cell’s floor in a puddle of brown and white robes.

Buffy caught the handle of Master Windu’s lightsaber as casually as another girl might catch a Jabbor fruit. She gave the lightsaber an experimental swing, grinning widely when it sliced a divot into the wall.

“Nifty,” Buffy chirped, the word seemingly directed as much at Anakin as Masters Yoda, Obi-Wan, and Tagalla, where they stood clustered in the hallway.

Looking at the masters’ various expressions, Anakin felt his stomach tighten. There… was going to be a lot of explaining to do.

_But at least Buffy’s alive again,_ thought Anakin, comforted. Even better, she was there with him, where he could keep her close and protect her and keep her from dying first ever again.

And maybe kiss her, though a Jedi wasn’t supposed to want that, much less do it, never mind wanting to do it _again._ Anakin found, though, that he wanted it very, very much; more than he had ever wanted anything, except to become a Jedi.

Another wave of the master’s lightsaber, another long chunk of wall scarred, and Buffy flicked the lightsaber through the air in a surprisingly adept maneuver before shutting it off. It disappeared into her jacket pocket.

Perhaps feeling Anakin’s gaze on her, Buffy looked his way. She grinned at him, and, helpless, Anakin returned it.

“That is Master Windu’s,” said Master Obi-Wan, drawing Buffy’s attention to himself – and away from Anakin. In that moment, Anakin disliked his master intensely.

“Yeah, but he lost,” said Buffy, jerking a thumb at Master Windu’s still crumpled form. “To the victor goes the spoils and all that.”

Smugness and glee radiated from every line of Buffy, both those illuminated by her light and softened by her shadows.

“We do not conduct ourselves in such a fashion,” said Master Tagalla coldly, a master speaking to a lesser. Anakin had seen the disapproval in Master Tagalla’s voice, in her form, radiating from her through the Force smother the misbehaviors of even the rowdiest of padawans, Anakin among them.

Master Tagalla held out her hand for Master Windu’s lightsaber, but Buffy merely grinned at her, easy and insouciant, as only one who’d only had herself as master could be.

Buffy did not surrender her spoils.

_“We_ don’t?” Buffy asked, her hip popping out to one side. “Since when?”

“It’s considered polite throughout the known galaxy to follow the traditions of one’s hosts,” said Anakin’s own master with deceptive mildness.

“But politer still to allow a guest to have her way,” said Buffy, her grin widening into a smirk.

There was no way that she remained entirely unaware of the masters’ growing disapproval, of the hardening of their will towards her. It pushed at Anakin’s senses, disrupting the flow of the Force around them.

But in the face of their silent expectation that she yield, submit, acquiesce to them, as so many had across so many worlds, Buffy remained determinedly, blissfully unconcerned. In the Force, her presence remained still and placid and untroubled, their combined will flowing around her like water around a boulder.

_I **knew** she was born free,_ thought Anakin, triumphant; awed and envious, as always, by the innate self-confidence of those who had only ever been their own master.

As if aware of his regard, Buffy’s gaze shifted back to Anakin. Under it, he straightened.

“So where is here, anyway, Anakin?” Buffy asked.

“Yes,” said Master Obi-wan, all deceptive mildness. “Explanations are in order, padawan.”

Their will having made no discernable impact on Buffy, the masters turned it to Anakin. Under their attention, that twist of darkness in his heart spiraling tighter. Something in him trembled, and Anakin started to quail – the habit of a lifetime, of a Tatooine slave – then straightened his shoulders, willing himself to confidence; hiding his weakness, his fear, within his anger.

Under the press of their gaze, Anakin bristled, making himself bigger and unafraid.

Movement at the corner of his eye, and then Buffy stood between Anakin and the rest of his order, straight and slim and unafraid. She was head and shoulders shorter than him, but in that moment, it felt like she towered over them all. Around her, Buffy’s essence flared, both the hard, sharp lightness of her and the soft, cloying darkness, drawing the full force of his masters’ attention back to herself.

“Stop it,” Buffy said, her voice now hard. “You’re scaring him.”

And she… meant to protect him from them, Anakin slowly realized, somehow feeling simultaneously humiliated and gratified. A flustered, confused feeling filled Anakin, as much darkness as light to it.

On the floor, Master Windu stirred and then groaned, shattering the tableau between Buffy and his masters. And in that broken moment, Anakin saw two paths stretch out before him.

The Jedi had taken from him one form of servitude and bound him into another instead, and he was grateful to them for it. They had fed him, clothed him, cared for him as much as they were able, and educated him. Everything he now possessed, they had bestowed on him – except her. Buffy had come to him on his own; deepened the connection between them because she wished it. To keep what he had, he would have to give up Buffy and their connection.

Or… he could keep her, his one friend and his most guilty indulgence both, and lose everything else, including Obi-wan.

_But I would still have her,_ thought Anakin, weighing his past and potential future in the Order against Buffy and the unknown. _I would know that she was alive and well and safe with me._

In even contemplating it, Anakin knew he failed.

_Master Obi-wan,_ Anakin thought bitterly, _wouldn’t have to think about it._

His master wouldn’t have even hesitated in choosing his path. He would have had no need of deliberation, no matter how brief.

It was harder for Anakin, though all he would miss from the Jedi Order were Obi-wan, its stability, and its creature comforts. Still, he didn’t think that his master would cut all ties with him were he to leave; to chose the unknown and Buffy. Anakin hoped that he wouldn’t, at least. And in time, Obi-wan would understand.

Anakin didn’t need the Jedi Order like he needed Buffy alive somewhere in the universe. And neither Master Obi-wan nor the Jedi Order needed Anakin, not really and certainly not him specifically; not like Buffy did, though she probably didn’t know it yet.

Buffy needed _him,_ something that no one had done since Master Qui-Gon Jinn had died. In her life, his place could not be filled – not by another padawan or a full Jedi or even a Jedi Master. She needed him, Anakin Skywalker.

And he… _needed;_ shamefully, deeply, and in ways that a proper Jedi would not. There was a hole in him, a twist of darkness in his heart, that the others would never understand. More than that, they would never forgive him it, were they ever to find out. Buffy, he thought, might not hate him for it. She might even understand. She wouldn’t throw him away for it, not her who was as much darkness as light.

And he liked to kiss her.

_Perhaps we could do more of that?_ Anakin wondered hopefully, as he eyed Buffy, who in turn was staring down a now conscious Master Windu. He would not let his lightsaber go gracefully to another, but Buffy seemed equally intent on keeping it.

But after that was sorted – and after he left the Order – well, it was a big, beautiful galaxy out there, one that Buffy had never seen any part of. She’d never even left her home world before. But if she’d let him, he’d show her all of it on the way home or anywhere else she wanted to go.

They had time.

After all, it wasn’t like either of them was dead, not anymore.

_And I’m going to keep it that way,_ decided Anakin.

She was all he had now, both to keep and to protect, as she seemed to want to keep and protect him, even from the masters. And maybe together, they could tread a new path, one that no Jedi could venture down; not for the specific, the individual, a girl; _this_ girl.

Anakin grinned, bright excitement unfurling in his chest.

For the first time in a long time, he found that he couldn’t wait to get started.

_With you, Buffy._


End file.
